The Good Life Greg Dixon
When the Sussexes come to our place, we will show them a good time.
Royal tour fever is sweeping the province. Well, I call it a fever, but it’s probably more like a dose of the sniffles. The first and, if I’m honest, only symptom of this was a report in the local paper. “It’s been 35 years since Wairarapa was included on a royal tour,” began the excited front-page story, “but hopes are high that newly-weds Prince Harry and Meghan, the Duchess of Sussex, will be swinging by later in the year.”
Well our hopes – by which I mean mine and Michele’s – are very high indeed. We may even have emitted little squeals of excitement at the news. Unfortunately, our hopes of actually seeing the Ginger Prince and his fragrant bride in the flesh, should they deign to visit the ’Rapa during their October tour, took a tumble as we read on.
The reported suggestions from the region’s three mayors – yes, Wairarapa, with a population of fewer than 50,000, has three district councils – of stuff for the royals to do had the sort of dreary predictability you’d expect from elected cheerleaders: visits to a farm, some posh lodge and Wairarapa beauty spots, which happen to be miles from anywhere, including us.
Some of the paper’s readers showed a bit more imagination. On Facebook, Karl reckoned Meghan and her Harry should swing by Master Fried Chicken, the greasy spoon on Chapel St, Masterton (three wings and half a scoop of chips, $6.50). Andrea thought they might like to see Paua World in Carterton (1kg bag of polished paua pieces, $55). Nikki suggested visiting “a couple of the local tinny houses” (POA). However David had by far the best idea: they could come to his “for a cuppa”.
He will be disappointed. The royals won’t be able to make it to his because – apologies, David – they will be coming to ours instead. I am formally offering my services to my Queen, my country and to my new province as the host for a day of HRH Henry Charles Albert David Windsor plus one, if they visit Wairarapa.
Iam uniquely qualified for the role, partly because I once owned a biscuit tin with a photograph of Harry’s parents on the lid, but mostly because I have previous royal experience.
I’ll never forget that day, in autumn 1977.
Under a grey Invercargill sky, the Queen wore a powder- blue three-quarter coat, matching hat with white scarf wrapped around it and white gloves. Her handsome devil of a husband, Prince Philip, wore a grey suit, a club tie and a tan. I wore my cub uniform.
I won’t say the Queen shook my hand and asked me, “Have you come far?”, because she didn’t. I won’t say our eyes met, either, because, as she moved through Invercargill’s lovely Queens Park, shaking other people’s hands, I could barely see her at all. But I will never forget how we were both amused by the sight of a dog with three legs. What a day it was.
I can’t offer Harry and Meg an introduction to a three-legged dog; sadly (though not for her), Miles the sheep farmer’s lovely dog Red has four legs. But we do have Michele’s famous petting zoo (under construction).
My plan is for the couple to arrive in Masterton by train from Wellington. This may encourage an indifferent Greater Wellington Council to finally fix the service. After picking the Sussexes up at the station, we will whisk them to Chan’s Restaurant, where
Betty does the best yum cha in the region. While we’re in town, Michele and Meghan will visit Milady, a fashion boutique, while Harry and I stand outside looking at our watches. Then it will be back to our place to meet the evil chickens, inspect my improvements to the coop and have a look at the famous petting zoo (under construction) before the happy couple and Michele feed the ewes apples. That’s what I call a royal tour. And I reckon we can fit all that in and still have them on the 3.38pm train back to Wellington. We can’t wait.
I am qualified for the role: I once owned a biscuit tin with a photograph of Harry’s parents on the lid.